


Cherry red, candy sweet

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I AM A SICK BASTARD, Knifeplay, Loads of bloody blood, M/M, i guess, sob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapping, blood, a lot of gore, then sex. What a great combination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything was dark.  
Pitch-black like the unknown depths of an ocean, the only lights was the colourful shapes made by his own brain as the blindfold pressed against his closed eyelids.  
They were blurry, shifty like the aurora, but they were also his only company in this new kind of dark, numb world.  
He didn’t feel his hands. He didn’t feel his feet. All he felt was this numb coldness and a burning pain in his stomach, the taste of bile and blood and half-digested food present on his tongue.  
He couldn’t remember throwing up.  
He couldn’t remember getting here or what he had done before that.  
And he certainly couldn’t remember being tied up.  
Screaming was useless, he had learned that by now. The first part of he hours he had been sitting here he had tried making noise, along with sense of the situation, both proved useless. The first one because he was gagged with a weird, elastic ball, the second one because… Well, because he was tied up somewhere dark, cold and foreign, unable to make any sensible sounds or feel his fucking fingers.

He had heard… Things.  
If it was only his own imagination, or maybe signs that he was slowly going insane, he didn’t know. He had heard giggles, screams, muffled moans and high-pitched mumbles and whispers he couldn’t make out.  
It didn’t scare him as much as it freaked him the fuck out.  
Luckily he had heard no footsteps just yet. If he had as much as sensed a door being opened or any other signs of someone entering he would most likely piss his own pants, no matter what an ironic coolkid he was.  
Fuck it! He had been sitting alone, only accompanied by these freaky sounds and the images his brain produced to go along with them for what had to be hours! He was shivering, almost crying, confused and in pain, four things no one should be forced to be at the same time.  
…  
What was that?

His ears had become sensitive after the endless amounts of time spent in silence, and he quickly picked up on something. A… Scraping, sort of, like mice inside the walls of an old house. A gentle sound. A small, quiet sound.  
A sound originating only inches away from him.  
He stayed silent, holding his breath in fear as the sound went from scraping to shuffling, and from shuffling to moaning.  
Eventually the moans became muffled yells, and about now Dave Strider realized he was not alone in the darkness.  
He grunted, one of the only things he could do when he was gagged like this, and the noise next to him silenced at once.  
Then he got a grunt as a reply.  
However, before he managed to keep up this caveman-communication, he was rudely interrupted by a thrill screech from the other side of the room. Judging by the echo, this room was one hell of a room, more like void with walls than anything else.  
Dave and the other stranger became silent as corpses.  
The screech cracked and broke like thin ice under pressure, bursting into an insanely high-pitched fit of giggles, the sound taken straight from an old horror movie.   
And it was coming closer, oh fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck it was coming closer.  
Whoever was laughing their ass off moved from the other side of the room to inches from his face in the matter of a nanosecond, making him give a muffled yell and jerk away, tipping dangerously far back before a firm harm grabbed his shirt and put him back in his place.  
At least now he knew he was on a chair. That was nice.  
But the storm of impressions that assaulted him from this new, giggling figure, was far from as pleasant.  
A strong, almost intoxicating smell of child’s shampoo and cinnamon washed over him, followed by a strong shiver as the new person’s long nails stung him trough the thin fabric of his shirt.  
He knew this scent. He knew it far too well.  
“Now, where do you think you’re going~?” A voice asked, the voice from his nightmares, and if Dave could he would have screamed.  
He tried his best. It only became a whine.  
“Oh, let me help you with that!”  
The ridiculously tight grip around his jaw got freed, the latex-tasting ball removed from his lips and allowing him to snap for air, and only a second later a couple of long fingers started working on the knot of his blindfold.  
The first thing that hit him was the flood of light after being sitting in complete darkness for god knows how long. He squealed in pain as his vision went from pitch-black to blinding white, sending a lightning straight trough his eyeballs and into his brain.  
“FUCK!”  
The giggling jackass that had removed the gag and the blindfold exploded in laughter, seemingly enjoying Dave’s pain.  
He clenched his eyes shut and waited. And waited. And waited.  
The figure got impatient, and before he knew what had happened, a sharp pain emerged from Dave’s cheek as he was bitch-slapped across the face.  
“Ah, shit dude!”  
“Open your eyes!” the voice commanded.  
“Nah, I’m cool.”  
He got slapped again.  
“OPEN YOUR EYES!”  
“Ah, fine, whatever.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dave had been scared shitless those hours when he thought he had been completely and utterly alone, and he was kind of relieved to talk to someone. Even if it was this guy again.  
It took the edge off the unknown, per say.  
He let up one eyelid, the light piercing his vision and hurting his head, bringing tears to his eyes as he was forced to slowly see what was around him.  
Two floodlights were placed on either side of him, and not those you have on your car, oh hell no, these were the expensive kind of lights that turns night into day.  
And because of this endless ocean of white light that almost liquefied the air itself, Dave could clearly see the room, or at least the space around himself.  
He was right. He was tied up, barefoot, to a sturdy wooden chair of the type your grandpa has. His ankles were securely bound to the legs of the chair and his feet were a dangerous kind of pale, almost blue.  
That explained why he couldn’t feel them.  
The dark floor was strangely free of any marks or texture. It might be stone, at least something hard and resistant, because it just looked smooth without being polished.  
He could only see one wall, the one he was sitting in front ot, and it was identical to the floor.  
However, the texture of the room was really his smallest concern.  
He could see himself. Not in a mirror, he could literally see two paradox clones of himself on the floor. One was passed out, a small brown crust of old blood on his lips, lying on his side, bound and gagged like a pig ready for slaughter.  
The other one, who Dave had communicated with earlier, was kneeling next to the chair and was very much conscious but also very much frightened out of his mind. So he kept quiet, still like a statue.  
“Holy… Shit, what is this place?”  
“This!” The voice said, doing a pirouette to show off now that Dave could see him. “… Is the playground!”  
He did some idiotic jazz-hands manoeuvre, sweet pink lips parted in a face-splitting grin so wide the corners of his mouth were twitching out of control because of the strain. His pupils were pin-points in an ocean of pale pink, unconcealed by the heart-shaped sunglasses up in the mess of minty green hair.  
And when he spoke, he had Dave’s voice, only high-pitched and twisted until the almost unrecognisable.  
“I’m sorry it took so long…!” he apologised, face frozen in this mask of madness  
“But, to make up for it, we’ll start right away!”  
Those long, lady-like fingers grabbed a secure hold of the awake Dave on the floor, pulling him into the spotlight. The trickster then proceeded to untie his blindfold with only one hand, leaving the gag to remain, purposely showing off how skilled he was with his hands as he did.  
Dave was already starting to get the impression that this guy was a show-off. The bright colours, the lights, this abduction taken right out of a horror movie?  
He had to be seriously fucked in the head.  
And this last suspicion was confirmed as the trickster Dave pulled out a small, thin knife, that type you use to cut vegetables and not people.  
The alternative Dave was blinking furiously against the light, his feet obviously not working properly after kneeling for so long, making him wobble back and forth.  
“Stand still!” The trickster commanded, painted nails burying themselves in the alternate’s neck to keep him in his place.

Dave felt the sour taste of fear in his mouth, reminding himself over and over that the poor fucker standing in the floodlights, blinking like an idiot, wasn’t him.  
But he had his face. He had his shades. He had his fears, emotions, experiences…  
Fuck it.  
The unfortunate soul being displayed in front of him was him in some alternative timeline, and Dave felt the fear as his own when the trickster grabbed hold of the alternate’s blonde hair and violently jerked his head back.  
“Woha, woha! Hold the fuck up, what do you think you’re doing?” Dave protested. The other Dave couldn’t say anything.  
“… Nothing?” The trickster giggled, the knife mysteriously finding it’s way across the gagged alternative Dave’s throat, leaving a fine, pink line. A shallow scratch and nothing more.  
“… O-okay dude, let’s talk this over” Dave tried to negotiate with the grinning maniac, panic seeping into his voice. His mind was already producing endless imagery of having to watch himself get gutted like a fish, and now that his eyes was not concealed by dark glass for once, the fear was blazing in his eyes like a furnace.  
The room went silent for a while, only making the few noises there painfully loud.  
The struggling breath of the still blindfolded and passed out Dave on the floor, the panicked gulps of air belonging to the Dave with a knife against his throat, the lack of breath as the main timeline Dave held it, and at least the small giggles coming from the trickster. They never ceased. Small, breathy laughs and chuckles, spilling from his lips with no end, as if they were interwoven with the flesh of his throat, increasing and decreasing in volume like the blood flow of a punctured artery.  
“… Nope.” The trickster concluded in the end, pink lips twitching as he tried to widen the smile.  
“I don’t feel like talking~”


	3. Chapter 3

A certain knife found its way from the doomed Dave’s throat, up to underneath the tight cloth tied around his head and muffling him, before sawing trough it and freeing the alternates mouth.  
The first thing he did was gasp for air, the panic in his eyes glowing red like a lantern. That was also the only thing he had time to do.  
The trickster slipped the knife into Dave’s lips and made him freeze.  
The main timeline Dave watched with disgust as the trickster started moving the knife, cutting Dave slightly, just enough to force him into opening his mouth and try to move the metal in order to not get this throat stabbed.  
So he used his tongue, going over the edge with it, his hot breath making making the shining surface fog up for a moment before it was covered in saliva that glistened in the white light.  
With a weird little noise, almost a purr, the trickster proceeded to slowly move to knife out, wiping it on his lips as it got dragged along, before putting it in again, the tip coming dangerously close to the roof of Dave’s mouth.  
“Ah, dude, sick.” The main timeline huffed. “What are you even doing?”  
“Nooothing~”  
Now Dave understood why people stop on the beach and take a picture of the incoming tsunami instead of running for the hills. It was oddly mesmerizing to watch as the trickster kept playing, slowly inserting and dragging the knife out again. The poor Dave that had to go trough this couldn’t move his mouth or tongue as much as an inch or he would be cut open by the sharp edge, the watery crimson drops on his lips hinted that he already had, and so he couldn’t really help it when a little saliva ran down the corner of his mouth.  
“Hee hee hee, you’re drooling!” The trickster giggled, making the knife move faster, now straight-out fucking his face with it.  
Eventually the main timeline Dave managed to tear his eyes away from the morbidly perverted scene in front of him, wondering if it was wrong of him to be a little turned on right now.  
Then came a scream.  
Dave’s eyes flew open in time to see his alternative timeline self bleeding like a slaughtered cow, sounds being muffled by the fact that the trickster had shoved almost his entire fist into his mouth, still holding the knife.  
Holy hell, he had been stabbed down his throat.  
Dave couldn’t help but stare, frozen in fear as the psychopath jerked the knife free with a disgusting ripping sound and jerked Dave’s head back, cutting his throat without much more fuzz.  
The now dying Dave hadn’t had a chance to let out anything more than that one scream. And now, the only sounds he produced were strikingly similar to a tap trying to deliver water when the pipes are frozen.

Suddenly remembering something it seemed, the trickster jerked the slowly growing limp Dave’s head to the other side, stabbing his neck again and causing a small fountain of crimson to escape as he penetrated an artery.  
The main timeline Dave squealed. For several reasons.  
He squealed because the blood was flying everywhere, and a good portion of it had landed on him, but he squealed mostly because the trickster had just thrown the twitching, dying , spluttering and blood-covered remains of alternative Dave into his lap.  
The impact pushed the chair backwards and sent them both into the floor, the back of Dave’s head not agreeing with the cold stone, and loudly telling him.  
“Aaah, fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK!”  
The trickster laughed. Dave cursed, unable to push the jerking, bleeding figure off him, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping into his clothes and dripping down on his face.  
He couldn’t breathe.  
Or, he obviously could because he was pretty much hyperventilating.  
Then he was freed of the extra weight for a moment.  
The trickster was there, the left side of his face coloured red, smiling so wide you could see the pain in his face as the expression strained his muscles.  
He had the dying Dave by the back of his shirt, the poor guy’s limbs already gone limp, his eyes glassy and absent. He was still twitching.  
And to the sound of these never-ending giggles that was his soundtrack, the maniac stabbed the dying man in the chest, making sure the now blood-covered Dave was watching before he started mauling the corpse.  
God knows why.  
And Dave watched. His shocked expression slowly faded into a white mask, stained with crimson as he saw his own dead body get ripped apart by the sharp metal like doll no one wants to play with any more.  
When he was finished, the trickster was panting heavily, leant over the almost unrecognisable remains of an alternative Dave.  
The main Dave remained silent.  
Then the trickster took several deep breaths and turned to third, still passed-out Dave on the floor, his eyes glazed with blood-lust and madness.

The poor, passed out alternative Dave hadn’t even been close to waking up during the commotion. In fact, whatever impact to his head that had made him fall unconscious seemed to be so strong, his muffled sighs and small twitches had died out. Now he was completely and eerily still.  
The trickster grabbed the figure on the floor and dragged him into the lights, lifting him up by his shirt and studying his pale face with a frown.  
Then he kind of hugged him around the waist, head against his chest.  
Dave’s first thought was that his trickster self might be a necrophiliac, but it turned out the insane fucker was just listening for heartbeats, and his grin back in place he held the limp body out in front of him and…  
Kissed it.  
Dave wasn’t even phased.  
“… Hmm, he doesn’t wake up…” The trickster stated, even though it was painfully obvious that this wasn’t Rapunzel.  
“Oh well.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dragging the body along behind him like a toy, trickster Dave firmly placed a foot on the chair and tipped it backwards again, giggling louder as he heard the back of Dave’s head hit the floor again.  
He walked around and stood by his side, the maybe-dead-maybe-alive alternative Dave by his feet like a dog, still blood-dripping knife in hand.  
“… Do you know what we’re gonna do now, Davey~?” he asked.  
Dave didn’t answer.  
The trickster frowned and placed a dirty shoe on his chest.  
“I asked, what do you think were going to do now?”  
No answer.  
“Dave, answer me you rude fuckface!”  
“… What are we going to do now.”  
“No, no no no! You got to guess!”  
“…”  
“I AM TELLING YOU TO GUESS!”  
“Whatever. I guess we’re going to die.”  
“Tee hee! Wrong! We’ll both live!”  
“Cool.”  
“… Aaaw, Davey, you’re so cold… Don’t worry, I’ll warm you, look!”  
He kicked the body on the floor, and it moaned slightly as he rolled over on his back.  
So he was alive after all. For how long though.  
Dave watched without changing expression as the passed-out Dave was halfway undressed, his shirt and jacket getting thrown into the corner, and Dave couldn’t help but wonder what “I’ll warm you” was supposed to mean…  
Luckily, he was wrong.  
The Dave on the floor wasn’t going to become some sort of sex toy.  
He was just going to die a horrible death.  
With a war cry the trickster plunged the knife into his alternate’s stomach and gutted him like a fish, sending the blood flowing like alcohol at a party.  
He then proceeded to stab everywhere he got to, blood splashing against his face, before he pulled the body up and placed it on top of the poor main timeline Dave and covered him in it.  
This was different.  
The blood was everywhere on him, giving him a weird sense of deja vu.  
It was in his eyes, on his face, inside his mouth. It formed droplets on his upper lips as he slowly exhaled trough his nose.  
The trickster was shaking and wringing the alternative Dave like you would with a sponge, completely soaking the other boy in blood, bodily fluids and a few pieces of some organs that fell out of the slashed stomach.  
It smelled horribly. It tasted like shit too.  
And it sounded like giggling.  
Dave was now completely soaked, a few dark crusts on his pants and in his hair marking where the first splatters had hit. The rest was just wet and red.  
The trickster threw the now somewhat empty body away, pushing Dave’s chair up and back in place before shamelessly just straddling over him and sitting on his lap, arms on his neck and grin on his face.  
“Wasn’t that fun?”  
No answer.  
“Dave! Do I have to command you to answer all the time?!”  
The trickster’s eyes were fogged up and his smile made out of pure pleasure, but his voice was dark.  
“… Right.”  
“Now, answer me, silly!”  
“It was fucking hilarious.”  
“I know!” The trickster squealed, leaning in to eskimo-kiss Dave.  
“And do you know the best part about it?!”  
“… No”  
“You will live to tell the tale!”  
Dave took a moment just to study the trickster’s face.  
An exited blush coloured it, his lips parted as he panted, the tip of his tongue out and a heavy layer of madness glazing his eyes. He seemed to like this just a little too much.  
It didn’t help that his leg rose, wrapping around Dave’s waist for no reason as he leaned in and rested their foreheads together, locking eyes.  
And when one of his hands travelled down to Dave’s pants his panic flared up again.  
Luckily, all the trickster did was putting a hand in his pocket and pulling his mobile up. It was covered in now partly dried blood, and he struggled with it for a good while before he managed to get it to work.  
“Oh, okay! I’m going to send a memory with you.”  
And with that, he unwrapped his legs and turned the other way, still sitting on Dave’s lap as he lifted the phone and started snapping pictures.  
Of the bloody floor. Of the muliated Dave in the corner, complete with the open stomach.  
Then, lastly, he took a picture of the first Dave. The one with the slashed throat. And with a seriously evil smirk he forwarded the picture to Karkat, with the text   
“tee hee~   
i borrowed your dave for a moment  
hope you dont mind karkitty”

“…OK!” he giggled.  
“When Karkitty answers this text I’ll release you and you can go home!”  
“… Dude, did you seriously just…?”  
Dave didn’t have words.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING this is where the non-con starts

The trickster nodded several times, so fast it looked like he was trying to snap his own neck.  
“Yep!”  
“... You damn freak.”  
“Why, thank you!”  
“No, seriously, you fucki-”  
He was interrupted as the phone buzzed. With an exited squeal, the green-haired parody opened the text message and read it out loud with a very dark, hoarse voice, impersonating Karkat.  
“Holy fuckbunnies, Strider, this is the worst fucking prank you've ever played! Seriously! This is low, even for you!”  
The trickster pouted.  
“Aaaw, he doesn't believe us, Davey! We need... Proof!”  
He grabbed one of the bodies and dragged it along, placing the limp piece of human a little away from the chair, before fiddling with the phone and eventually placing it up against the body, using it as support.  
“Ask what I'm doing~”  
“What are you doing.”  
“I'm recording!”  
Oh god what?!  
The trickster laughed and suddenly started running, jumping up on Dave's chair and straddling over his lap again, grabbing the blonde's head with both hands and pressing their foreheads together.  
“If I untie your feet, will you be a good boy and not kick me~?”  
“...”  
“And not try to fight your way to freedom?”  
“... Uh”  
“Good!”  
Dave didn't like the way this insane version of him got down on his knees on the floor. He didn't like how the trickster allowed his hands to caress the inside of his knees before undoing the knots that kept Dave's ankles tied to the chair's legs, and he really didn't like it when the trickster slid his hands up his legs and over his thighs.  
“Mrr... You're really pretty, Davey, you know that~?”  
Oh no, oh no ohnohno...  
“We have the same face. And body.”  
“I have to be one sexy bastard, then!”  
“... Dude. No.”  
“What?”  
“Get your hands off me.”  
“I don't feel like it!”  
“I'm seriously going to- aaAAAah FUCK!”  
“Hee hee, do I have cold hands?”  
“Yeah, you- woha woha WOHA you're not going down there!”  
“I'm not?”  
Zip.  
“Hell no, get the fuck out of my pants before I- oh shit-”  
“You're really warm, Davey~”  
“Ah, d-dude, it stopped recording.”  
“What?”  
The trickster looked back at the phone. It had tipped backwards and was now pointing a the ceiling, only having recorded their voices. He rolled his eyes.  
“Ugh, typicaaaaal~! I guess Karkitty will have to deal with it. Now, where was I...”  
“No, that's not a good id- aaAAah fuck- You should really set it up again.”  
“I should?”  
“Totally.”  
“... But I'm doing so great~”  
“Oh hey, heard that?”  
“What?”  
“I got a text”  
“... Oh!”  
Eventually Dave managed to convince the trickster into pulling his hands out of his pants and go check the phone. His shirt was pushed up to over his chest and the skinny jeans were unzipped, but other than that and the mental scars, he was unhurt.  
And he managed to stay unhurt for full five seconds before he felt a sharp, burning pain shoot trough his face as he was slapped.  
“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” The trickster pouted, backhanding him for good measure.  
“You had no message!”  
To his absolute horror the world suddenly went dark.  
The bright light from the lamps barely managed to shine trough the cloth as he found himself blindfolded once again, his hair being violently pulled back, almost folding his neck over the back of the chair and forcing his chin up. A strong shiver went trough him when he felt the wet warmth of a tongue trail down his jawline and throat.  
“You've been a bad boy!” The trickster giggled.  
“Dude. That's taken from a bad porno.”  
“Sorry, my bad, let's make it a good porno!”  
“Yeah, let's not- Ngh-!”  
Dear god, there it was again, that oddly cold hand with the sharp nails. It stroke over his lower belly and messed with the top of his underwear, pushing it dangerously far down.  
“Hehehe, what's that...?”  
“Dude, hands- Ngh, hands out, now”  
“Mmmh, I don't think so! In fact, I think you like it!”  
Oh god, the hand was moving into places it shouldn't be, touching and playing to get him hard.  
“F-fuck no.”  
“Mmm... You're right, you don't feel like it.”  
“Glad to have that established, now fuck o- Oh nonono oh hell-”  
He squirmed as a stray finger found it's way further down, travelling between his cheeks and finding his entrance before prodding at it.  
“No?”  
“Oh HELL no!”  
“Lighten up, grumpy mac nastypants!”  
Shit, shitshitshit-  
The finger wouldn't stop. Even though he had his legs untied, kicking the guy with his hands on your balls was not an option if you wanted to keep them intact.  
It barely dipped inside, and he could feel the trickster letting go of his hair to move the now freed hand down and grab the bottom of his shirt, pushing it further up and to his jaw.  
And his breath went so fast he was whining as the doppelgänger pressed his face against his neck, hummed loudly with pleasure, and moved down to catch a nipple with his lips.  
It was so slow, so teasing, so tortuously humiliating. The disgusting little moans he gave as he treated the stiff nipple with his tongue, the eager sounds as he added another finger and scissored them apart to widen Dave painfully. He was panting, licking, sucking and thrusting his hand in a rhythm that gave echoes into Dave's very being and sat permanent marks.


End file.
